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My sweetheart just had one thing to say to me after I got home from church: "Give me room." I've learned to live with this curse over the past fifteen years of our marriage, so I'm not surprised either. To him, all a guy needs to do is have as much sex with his wife as he pleases and give him money to take care of the home while he is left alone to live as he pleases. He doesn't appear to care about communication in marriage. No one can stop him from entering the house whenever he wishes. I was forbidden by culture and society from asking him. The husband is allegedly the head of the home. Even the good book made this claim.

With time I've given him all the space he needed and accepted the place of a widow in real-time,  independent is my watchword and I dare not ask Jim for anything,  by the time our kids were in high school I didn't ask for a dime from him.  For a while he never cared to ask,  the day he finally did,  I could smell some kind of shame in his tone.  He felt banished from his high throne of being a husband. Half of his usefulness is gone,  he couldn't ask for me for sex again. I can now boldly say am tired and turned in the opposite direction while zooming off deep into the wonderland. 


My husband was a  very caring man when I met him,  for the record.  He was my listening ear and everything a woman will ever want in a man. His athletic body was so intact too. But the holy saint turned devilish sinner two weeks after we got married and I was made to know all those acts of kindness were Hollywood movies played by him to get me into his nest. I really wanted to cry the day I eavesdrop on some of his friends laughing hysterically and loudly at how he waited patiently like a lion to catch me his prey.  I cried at the corner,  I cried because all my marital vows were all a rehearsal. I was playing into this. And I fell for it hook line and sinker. 


A #freewrite  for @mariannewest every day prompt : **Space**


<center>A #freewrite  for @mariannewest every day prompt </center>